Wings Over Poppies (Over #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  “I disagree.”

  I stand, set up my stance, and lightly tap the ball. It rolls slightly to the left, but follows the tilt of the green at the last second, falling into the hole with ease.

  After placing the flag back in the hole and saving my club in my golf bag, I hop into the cart next to Cain. I’m driving today, so I face him, refusing to start the golf cart until he answers me.

  “What do you want me to say, Alex? It turns out that Celia thinks you should fight like hell, but me? I should just fucking let it go.” He looks away and shakes his head. “I’ve been in love with her since the first day I met her. She was sitting on the porch, waiting for me to bring the keys to the rental house, with her big blue eyes and a fucking flower in her hair. She looked like a lost little fairy. I cancelled my plans for the day and hauled in every single box she had.”

  “I’m sorry, Cain.” I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “I’ve never lost someone I loved, and I know it’s a stupid cliché, but I have to believe that time heals all wounds, right?”

  “No offense to those who can’t defend themselves, but this guy has been screwing with me from the grave for years.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “How about your guy? Did you return his driver’s license?”

  I maneuver the cart to the next hole and huff in frustration.

  “Yeah, that went about as well as the golf game. I got a lot of ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ and ‘Why couldn’t you just give my license to the secretary?’ for my trouble. I’m trying to keep my head up, but he’s making it hard.”

  Cain grabs his driver from the back, strolls to the tee box, and pushes his ball and tee into the grass. After a few practice swings, he laughs to himself and shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We are a fucking pair, you know that? Gluttons for punishment. Our lives would be so much easier if we could forget about Celia and West, marry each other, and live happily ever after.”

  We lock eyes and remain silent as time passes. We both break into huge grins and dissolve into fits of laughter. I laugh so hard tears run down my face, and Cain’s raucous laughter earns us a few stern looks from passing golfers.

  He wipes a finger under his eye as he addresses his ball.

  “Whew! I really needed that.” He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Me too, Cain,” I say with a laugh. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Yep. Tomorrow, let the head banging against the proverbial wall recommence.”

  “You lost fair and square, Cain. Stop crying like a little bitch about it,” I say with a laugh.

  “I’m not crying, I’m just saying. For a girl, you’re freakishly good at golf. I feel like I’m being hustled every time we play.” He slaps my back, making me trip forward a few steps. The damn brute doesn’t know his own strength. “I’m going return the keys, I’ll be right back.”

  I sit on the bench to change my shoes and wait for Cain, until a young boy’s laugh catches my attention. My attention turns to the driving range where I see the boy in question from a distance. There’s a man standing next to him playfully tousling his hair. It almost looks like … it couldn’t be, could it?

  I start walking toward the pair, but it doesn’t take long to confirm my suspicions. Their attention is directed to the range and each other, so they are oblivious to my approach. I take the opportunity to listen to their exchange.

  “I can’t wait to play on the course. I’m gonna be an awesome golfer,” Timothy says with the kind of excitement only a child possesses.

  “You’re gonna be great, bud. But we need to practice on the range and the practice putting green for a while longer. Remember, this game is all about patience.” There’s gentleness in West’s tone I rarely have the opportunity to hear.

  I cross my arms protectively and clear my throat. “What a surprise,” I say with forced cheerfulness. Timothy turns around, and his eyes light up when he recognizes me. “Hey Timothy. I didn’t know you were a golfer.”

  An infectious giggle erupts from Timothy’s lips. “Hey, Miss Alex. I’m not a golfer yet, but West is showing me how to play. He’s the best golfer, so I know I’m gonna be awesome if he’s my teacher.”

  “He is definitely a great golfer. He beat me just last week,” I admit with a somber head nod.

  “Yeah, but you’re a girl. He’s supposed to be better than you,” Timothy replies matter-of-factly.

  “Bud, I think we need to have a little talk about how to woo the ladies,” West chuckles and puts his hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you to practice your putting for a few minutes while I talk to Miss Alex?”

  We both watch silently as Timothy grabs his putter and runs to the practice green with a handful of golf balls. West stares at the grass for a moment, puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at me. I raise my eyebrows in question.

  “I’m teaching the kid to play golf, Alex. There’s no need to talk it to fucking death, all right?” he snaps with an insolent glare.

  “Oh, I think it warrants a small conversation, at the very least.” I cock my head to the side. “Did you know Timothy before I saw you talking to him at the gallery?”

  “Fuck,” West says on a sigh. “All right, here we go. No, I didn’t know Timothy. After I left the gallery that day, I called Caroline and offered my help.”

  I stand silent, utterly confused, and wait for him to continue. He doesn’t say another word, but raises his hands as if to say, “Are we done here?”

  “How in the hell do you know Caroline?”

  None of this makes any sense. If West and Caroline are acquainted, then why didn’t she say so when I asked for help finding him? That would have come up, wouldn’t it?

  He looks to the ground, obviously stalling. He has to know I’ll wait him out. Surely he remembers how stubborn I am. He looks up, glaring at me, and I shrink slightly under the pressure, but only slightly.

  “She’s my therapist, okay? Satisfied?”

  I sense the smallest hint of embarrassment at his admission, and I wish I could reassure him. I wish I could tell him he’s got nothing to be embarrassed about. But present day West will twist my words and make it seem like an insult, so I let it lie.

  Before I can answer, West’s expression turns to stone, and his fists clench tightly at his sides. If I thought he was angry before, he’s downright fuming now. This time, when he stares me down, I not only shrink, I take a step back in apprehension.

  “I see you’ve decided to forego your end of our bargain, Alex.” He quickly erases the distance between us, but his attention is entirely focused on something behind me.

  “W-What are you talking about?” I stammer, hating the fear I hear creeping into my voice.

  “I don’t recall vetting any douchebags. Care to explain why there’s one walking up behind you, looking territorial?”

  When it hits me that he’s referring to Cain, my anxiety turns to anger. “That’s not a douchebag, you ass, that’s my friend Cain,” I whisper forcefully, trying my best not to alert Timothy to our argument.

  “You good, Alex?” Cain asks suspiciously as he sidles up next to me and crosses his arms.

  “Everything’s fine. West is being his usual pleasant self. What’s new?”

  Like a magic wand has been waved, West’s entire demeanor changes in an instant, and he reaches his hand out to Cain.

  “Hey man, sorry. Lately, Alex has proven she can’t be trusted to make smart decisions, so I’ve had to resort to caveman tactics to keep her from getting her throat slit in a dark alley.”

  “Right on, man. Do what you have to do,” Cain says as he leans forward to accept West’s handshake.

  “What?” I screech. I turn and look at Cain as if he’s grown three heads.

  Judas!

  “Sorry girl, but I speak the truth. Taking my Cece to that speed dating shit?” He shakes his head in obvious disappointment. “I could’ve throttled the pair of you.”

  �
�Well, that makes us even, because I’m about to throttle you, Cain Preston,” I warn as I jab a finger into his chest. Never mind the fact that it feels like I’ve hit concrete and he doesn’t budge, not even a little. I will still throat punch his ass.

  “It’s good to know there’s another voice of reason out there. Alex tends to walk through life with her head in the clouds, her fingers in paint, and her feet skipping happily on the yellow brick road. Completely fucking oblivious,” West says as Cain nods his head in agreement and chuckles.

  “You can both kiss my ass, which is firmly planted in reality.” I storm away from the pair of them, their laughter getting louder by the second.

  “Aw, come on, Alex. Where ya going?” Cain asks. “Don’t be mad.”

  I turn and face the two cackling assholes, continuing my walk backwards toward the parking lot. “Home. Maybe I’ll just click my heels together three times!”

  “Just don’t drop a house on our heads, Dorothy!” Cain hollers.

  “Say Something” by A Great Big World

  “With or Without You” by U2

  “A LITTLE MORE to the left,” I say as I walk up behind Caroline hanging a new painting in the clinic lobby.

  Caroline’s breath hitches as she clutches the ladder railing. “Sweet Jesus, girl! Don’t ever sneak up behind an old woman on a ladder. I was an inch away from being sprawled out on the floor with a broken hip. And you know what they say about broken hips, don’t you? It’s all downhill from there. I’d hate for that to be on your conscience.” Caroline laughs as she climbs down and stands next to me to admire her handiwork.

  “You’re way too stubborn for that, Caroline. Uphill is the only way you climb. You’ll probably outlive us all,” I reply with a smile.

  She throws her head back and laughs. “I’m afraid you’re right. The man upstairs will have to drag me away kicking and screaming, I imagine. What brings you in today, Alex? Are you looking for Celia, because she’s at her private office today.”

  “No I’m actually looking for you. Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, but I already see the dodgy look in her eyes as she gathers up her tools.

  She lifts her wrist, looks at her watch, and shakes her head. “I’m afraid I have an appointment coming any minute. I don’t have much time today.”

  “You’re avoiding me,” I say in a matter of fact tone.

  She slumps her shoulders at my accusation, and I shake my head in annoyance, knowing I’m right. She’s thwarted my attempts to meet with her for the past three weeks. This is completely out of character for her. She’s always readily available to the volunteers and clients of New Horizons alike.

  She recovers quickly and squares her shoulders. “I have,” she says simply with no explanation.

  “It’s important, Caroline. Please,” I beg, hoping she can sense the urgency of my request.

  “Oh I agree, my sweet girl, there’s nothing more important. But I can’t speak with you about it,” she explains with gentle understanding that I’ve come to expect from her.

  “I need your help, Caroline. I don’t know how to get through to him. He’s erected this impenetrable wall, and I’m not sure how much more I can take,” I plead, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill.

  I try my hardest to get through to West every time we’re together, but nothing seems to make a bit of difference. The harder I try, the crueler he becomes. I do my best to stay positive, to fight hard enough for the both of us. For all my efforts, I’m rewarded with a minimal amount of tolerance and hateful, but well exacted, jabs. I’m fucking exhausted, and my hope is waning.

  “If West would like you to come to one of his sessions, I would be happy to speak to the both of you together,” she offers as she continues to gather her things.

  I scoff at the thought of West inviting me anywhere, much less his therapy session. “That’s not gonna happen, Caroline. He treats me like I’m the enemy. He acts as if my breathing in and out is a personal affront to him.”

  “In that case, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She doesn’t miss the tear that escapes, rolling down my cheek, and she sighs loudly in response. “I’m bound by therapist-patient confidentiality, Alex. This puts me in a precarious position.”

  “I understand,” I whisper, nodding as I wipe my tears.

  Caroline opens her mouth to speak just as the bell on the front door rings. Marlo walks in to the lobby wearing wrinkled scrubs, dark circles under her eyes, and a cupcake caddy.

  “Hello all,” Marlo says with a huge yawn. “I promised Celia cupcakes for her group sessions today.”

  She places the container on the front counter and moves her hand under it, doing her deadpan Vanna White impersonation. “One dozen chocolate with salted caramel frosting, and one dozen red velvet with cream cheese frosting and chocolate shavings. I’ve done my duty.”

  Caroline squints at Marlo. She points and drags her finger up and down Marlo’s image. “What’s going on right here? You’re lacking your usual spunk, and I don’t like it.”

  She sighs dramatically and slumps down into one of the waiting room chairs. Each chair has a famous song verse etched and painted on the back of it, and Marlo aptly chooses “Witchy Woman.”

  “I’m coming off of a sixteen hour shift. I had three deliveries, and I feel like I’ve been drug behind a truck,” she complains. A small smile plays on her lips. “One of my patients pushed for three hours. We were both out of steam by the end of it. But do you know what she told me after the baby was born? She said I was a ray of sunshine between her legs.”

  Caroline and I turn to each other and dissolve into a fit of laughter.

  “Only you would be proud of that compliment,” I say when I finally catch my breath. Even when she’s exhausted, Marlo’s craziness can still lift me out of a funk.

  “What? That’s a compliment tailor-made for a labor and delivery nurse,” she says, crossing her arms defiantly, defending her position.

  “Or a prostitute,” Caroline says, causing another fit of laughter.

  “Ha-ha-ha. Yuck it up, you two.” Marlo opens the cupcake container and hands me a red velvet cupcake. “That’s for those teary eyes. Nothing cures heartache like diabetes.”

  Marlo is an exquisite baker, and her cupcakes are practically orgasmic. The cupcake is so beautifully iced and decorated, it’s almost a shame to eat it. Almost.

  Caroline gives us each a shoulder squeeze before exiting the lobby with one simple statement. “I’ll be thinking about you, Alex.”

  I turn to Marlo with a shaky smile and shrug. “Turns out Caroline can’t fix everything.”

  Marlo shakes her head, hands planted on her hips. “You may not want to hear it, but you don’t look like a girl who’s found her Prince Charming. Just sayin’. I’m going to face plant into my bed right now, but I’m here for you, girl.”

  And with those sage words, Marlo turns on her heel and leaves me standing in the clinic lobby, cupcake in hand.

  Is she right? Have I been trying to fix the unfixable?

  My heart aches at the mere thought.

  I put my car in park and turn off the ignition in West’s driveway. I have a good reason for being here, I tell myself. I can’t make our Friday golf game, and he hasn’t given me his phone number. It would be rude to stand him up. Could I have called him at the rehab clinic? I guess so, but then I wouldn’t have the opportunity to apologize in person. Canceling plans really warrants a sincere apology, in my opinion. Treat others how you want to be treated, Alexandra. This is the rule every God-fearing woman must follow. It’s what separates us from the savages.

  I draw in a cleansing breath, exit the car, and climb the front porch steps. I ring the doorbell and wait for him to answer, but he never comes. I ring the bell again, thinking I may be out of luck. I take my keys out of my purse and turn to leave when I hear the clanging of metal.

  I decide to follow the noise, which leads me to his garage. I notice the side door is cracked open slightly, so I
open it a smidge more and peek inside.

  West doesn’t notice my approach. He’s laying on a work out table while bench-pressing some obnoxious amount of weight, wearing only shorts and tennis shoes. I keep silent, not wanting to startle him and cause him to drop the weight. It has nothing to do with his broad, shirtless chest and arms roped in muscle heaving the weight rhythmically up and down. Over and over again.

  Sweet Jesus.

  This is the first time I’ve seen his leg on display since the time I walked up on him and Timothy at the gallery. He usually wears pants, effectively hiding the prosthetic. It’s difficult to explain, but seeing him this way makes him all the more beautiful to me. His leg tells a story of perseverance and determination, and what’s sexier than that? It screams, “I’m a survivor.” Looking at him now, it’s safe to say West has done much more than survive.

  A whole hell of a lot more.

  I’m in such a trance, I don’t even notice when he places the barbell back in the rack. I startle when he sits up, grabs a towel, and wipes his face and chest clean of sweat. Luckily, since he still hasn’t noticed me, I have time to close my gaping mouth.

  “Hey.” My voice sounds husky, still completely affected by the sight of him.

  He lifts his eyes to mine. His look burns me. It feels primal, instinctual, and it takes an enormous amount of restraint not to go to him. I ache to run my hands up his chiseled chest. I long to fist my hands in his hair. What I wouldn’t give for him to back me up against the wall and take me, hard and fast, just as he did before. His brown eyes darken with need, and I know he feels it, too.

  He wraps the towel around his neck and tugs on the ends as he lowers his head. When he looks back at me, I’m met with the familiar indifference and irritation. The air in the room shifts suddenly, giving me emotional whiplash.

  “It’s funny, Alex. I don’t remember inviting you to my house.” He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw.

  I stammer, struggling to shift gears. “I know. I just wanted to—I mean, I can’t make our golf game this week, so I—”